


You're Kissing Him Now?

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Cousy Valentine, Director Daisy Johnson, F/M, First Kiss, Future Fic, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Sad Sexy Baby Deer Phil Coulson, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Caught up in a hostage situation, Daisy finally gives in and kisses Coulson.





	You're Kissing Him Now?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts), [hamsterfactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterfactor/gifts).



> A belated fic for the Cousy Valentine mini-fest at Johnson & Coulson on Tumblr. I had this idea at 5am yesterday and had to write it.
> 
> This fic's dedicated to the two mods of Johnson & Coulson to celebrate their 4th Blogiversary. Thanks for all you do for the Cousy fandom!!

Daisy can’t help thinking that maybe the middle of a hostage situation is not the best time to get the urge to kiss Phil Coulson. But, in fairness to herself, it’s not _entirely_ her fault – if the man wasn’t such a goddamned hero, she might’ve avoided it. She wouldn’t, she knows. She’s been feeling the urge to kiss Coulson since pretty much day one. It’s just that it’s a stronger urge this time as he sprawls where he was dumped on the ground at her feet, beaten, bruised and bloody. She wishes she could pick him up, but her arms are full of the young Inhuman she’d just scooped up who’s also unconscious.

“Phil,” she mutters in a low voice. “C’mon, Phil, now’s not the time to be sleeping on the job.” She touches her foot to his shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, soldier.”

“Daisy?” The word’s more a slurred mumble than anything, but she feels a surge of relief that he’s even responding.

“Phil.” She glances down at him, then over at the locked door that stands between them and freedom. “Need a little help here, Phil.”

He groans softly, then pushes himself half way up, kneeling at her feet and looking up at her bleary-eyed. He’s taken a few punches to his face, and she bites her lip when she realises she wants to kiss each and every spot where he’s been punched. _What is wrong with you?_ she asks herself silently, annoyed.

“Can you get up?” she asks, trying to keep her voice low, still, despite the urgency she’s feeling.

“Gimme a moment,” he tells her.

She swallows down her concern, watching intently as he seems to psyche himself up before moving again. She frowns and says, “Your right arm’s got a hairline fracture.”

He gives her a look – half dazed, half amazed. “Your powers.” He doesn’t ask the question, but she answers as if it is.

“Yeah. I, uh, know the shape of your vibrations really well by now, so I can tell when you’re injured.”

He gives a half nod, then moves into her personal space. “Shall I take Keisha?”

“Can you manage her?”

He nods. “Can you get us out of here?”

“Easily,” she says confidently, and a tired smile lightens his face for a moment, then he slips his arms under Keisha’s body and once her arms are free, Daisy squeezes his shoulder briefly, leans in and presses her mouth to his even more briefly, then turns her attention to the door. 

She doesn’t miss the look of mingled bafflement and delight that steals over Phil’s face as she turns away.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

An hour later, she’s in the Director’s cabin aboard the Zephyr, sitting down on the couch with a tall glass of the almost tasteless drink that Simmons makes by the gallon for her to help her recover from using her powers extensively, when there’s a knock on the doorframe, and she realises she must have zoned out for a moment, because it’s Phil standing in the doorway and she hadn’t sensed his approach as she usually does.

“Come in,” she says, giving him a slightly shy smile, despite the fact he’s bearing a tray full of food. She feels a bit bad for kissing him without asking for his permission to do so.

“I’ve brought you something nicer tasting,” he tells her, and she chuckles weakly.

“My hero,” she says, and he gives her a crooked grin as he carries the laden tray across the room and sets it on the desk. She frowns, suddenly realising something. “Should you be carrying that with your arm?”

He chuckles. “I can’t carry it with anything else.”

Daisy rolls her eyes and resists the urge to smack his other arm. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

He gives her a sassy sort of smirk. “Simmons did tell me I should keep it elevated and rest it, but I’ve had worse.” He glances almost imperceptibly at his lower left arm, his rolled-up shirt sleeve showing the metal band that connects the prosthetic to his stump.

“Even so, Phil, don’t overdo it.”

“Is that the Director speaking, or my friend?” He asks it lightly enough, but she frowns at him.

“I’m both,” she says, a little sternly, and he nods.

“You should eat before it gets cold,” he says, and starts to move away, but Daisy reaches out and catches hold of his left wrist.

“We need to talk,” she tells him.

“Do we?”

She frowns again. “Don’t play obtuse with me, Phil. It doesn’t suit you.”

He immediately looks contrite, then turns his wrist over and catches her hand. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head, then gives his hand a slight tug, and he takes the hint and sits down beside her. “I’m sorry I kissed you earlier without asking for permission.” She doesn’t look at him, concentrating instead on starting to the soup he’s brought her.

His hand slides up her back, and even though it’s the prosthetic and not his flesh-and-blood hand, she swears it feels warm through the fabric of the tank she habitually wears beneath the jacket of her fieldsuit.

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” he says softly.

She swallows a mouthful of soup. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Daisy.” He just says her name, and she feels a tingle of pleasure at the softness of his voice, and the way his hand slides across her shoulder blade to clasp her shoulder. He applies the lightest amount of pressure to make her turn towards him, then he leans in and barely brushes his lips over hers. “I don’t mind in the slightest,” he says, as if he knows she needs a verbal reassurance as well as the non-verbal one. “And once you’ve eaten, I’d very much like you to do it again.”

She half chokes at his words, and he gives her a truly naughty smirk. “I’ll see what I can manage,” she says, trying for a nonchalant tone.

He laughs, then wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes. “You should finish your soup,” he tells her.

“I will, and then I’m going to kiss you senseless,” she declares.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

She shakes her head, then turns her attention back to her food, and thinks that she would’ve kissed him sooner had she known he’d enjoy it so much.


End file.
